


A Life Without You

by omchan



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omchan/pseuds/omchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is a life without you worth living?</p><p>Following Marco's death, Jean seems to be coping well. However, it's hard to move on, especially when he has regrets. His biggest one? Not telling Marco how he feels. Unfortunately, it's impossible to fix now. Or is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Extreme OOC-ness, explicit content (*coughs* sex *coughs*) and general randomness.
> 
> *In this fic, Jean and Marco are childhood friends*
> 
> I wrote this because my JeanMarco feels just overflowed. Also, I think that there's an extreme lack of smut for this pairing >.>
> 
> PS: Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan does not belong to me. 
> 
> Well, enjoy~

The only thing that has ever made Jean Kirschstein break down is Marco’s death. No words can describe how he feels when he sees the body, bloodied and maimed, lying on the side of the street. 

The world crashes down around him, and it almost feels like he’s the one dying-dead-because his life flashes in front of his eyes. Yet the memories are only those that he shared with Marco. 

He can’t help himself; he collapses to his knees, shaking, trying to avert his eyes, look anywhere but right in front of him. At the body of his best friend.

Time seems to slow, nearly comes to a halt, but Jean knows better. Time is going on, as it always does, though he wonders if it will ever really continue for him after this point. 

After what feels like an eternity, footsteps approach him from behind. 

“What’s his name?” 

She’s all business, a cold gleam in her eye. She knows the reality, has probably experienced it countless times. There is no sympathy, no compassion, but that is to be expected. Such sentiments have no place in a cruel world such as this, and she doesn’t even know Marco personally. 

With a shaky voice, Jean replies, “104th trainee division, Marco Bodt.” 

She nods, marking it down. “It’s good that we have a name,” is all she says in response. And just like that, she’s gone as quickly as she came. 

Jean stands up numbly, and closes his eyes. A wave of nausea sweeps over him, and he grits his teeth. 

Never has the reality of the world shaken him as much as this. 

***

Days pass, and all of the bodies are collected. A large bonfire is built, and used for the cremation. 

Sparks fly into the night, little flecks of light like stars in the sky. 

Jean watches the whole proceeding with an impassive face. He stares into the heart of the crackling fire, and whispers, “Marco…” 

He has so many regrets. 

They had met when they were mere children, in their small hometown by Wall Maria. Jean’s personality often came off as arrogant to most, so he had no one to really call a friend. However, Marco was different. He was kind and perceptive. He could see that Jean was lonely. 

They became fast friends, and spent all of their free time with each other. 

Years passed, in quick succession, the both of them growing older and more mature. Jean often spoke of his desire to become a part of the Military Police, tempted by the prospect of being allowed to live in the innermost wall. 

Marco would laugh and smile good-naturedly, remarking that it would be nice. He always stated that he would follow Jean if he ever did try and become a soldier. “That’s what friends are for,” He’d say, a hint of wistfulness in his tone. 

It was only until later that Jean would discover what Marco had been hiding. 

On the eve of their trainee orientation, Marco had come to Jean’s door, strangely uncomfortable and slightly awkward. 

It disoriented Jean, as he had become accustomed to perpetual comfort when they were in each other’s presence. 

“C-can I talk to you for a moment?” Marco had stuttered. “I have something to tell you.” 

Although Marco’s behaviour perplexed Jean, he swiftly nodded, and stepped out, closing the door behind him. 

“Let’s go to the river.” Marco proposed. 

They made their way there in silence, settling down on its bank, under a tree. 

The setting sun cast rays of warm orange light across Marco’s face, accentuating the splash of freckles across his nose. 

“Jean.” He began hesitantly. “I…I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while, but… there never seemed to be and appropriate time.” 

He took a deep, nervous breath, and sighed. “I suppose now’s as good a time as any.” 

He looked up into Jean’s eyes with a mix of hopefulness and fear. 

“I love you.” 

A wave of confusion and fear washed over Jean. This had been the least of what he was suspecting. 

Chilled to the core and not thinking straight, he automatically replied, “Sorry, I don’t see you in that way.” 

A small, resigned smile came onto Marco’s face as he said, “I expected as much.” 

In that instant, Jean had wanted to take it all back. Curse him and his impulsiveness. He opened his mouth to try and fix things, but Marco gently laid a hand on his knee and shook his head. 

“No need to apologize, Jean,” He had said. “I know you’re not angry or disgusted or anything. That’s enough.” 

_No!_ Jean yelled inside his head. _That wasn’t what I was going to do!_

“Wait, Marco-” 

A soft touch on his cheek caused him to pause.

“We can go back to being friends, but… can you indulge me just this once?” Marco pleaded. “Just one kiss.” 

Jean couldn’t get a word in before Marco’s lips touched his. They were warm. Warm and soft, gently caressing and moving. 

It was over in mere seconds, leaving Jean to mourn the loss of heat on his lips, wondering if he’d just imagined it. 

“Thank you,” Marco whispered, pulling away from him and settling on the grass, the distance between them more than usual. 

The complex whorl of emotions in the pit of Jean’s stomach was entirely new to him. He didn’t know where to begin deciphering them. 

Jean was just about to attempt to talk things out further when Marco suddenly said, “So. What do you think tomorrow’s going to be like?” 

And that was the end of that. 

So yes, Jean has many regrets. He regrets that he couldn’t save Marco, that he didn’t pay more attention to him in Trost. He regrets that he didn’t find his body earlier, that he wasn’t even there when he died. 

However. His biggest regret of all is that he never told Marco that he loves him, too. 

Closing his eyes, Jean imagines Marco smiling, telling him, “You can live without me, Jean. I know you can.” And it sounds exactly like something he would say. So much so that Jean actually believes it. 

It is then he makes the decision. 

He is not going to join the Military Police, though it has been his lifelong dream. He is going to the Scouting Legion. 

***

Everyone is shocked when Jean makes his declaration, most of all Eren. 

“Why did you change your mind?” He asks curiously. “You were being so stubborn earlier.” 

Jean swallows, thinks briefly of Marco, and says, “There is nothing I want less than meeting a disappointing end with someone burning my bones, not knowing why I died.” 

Eren nods, an unspoken understanding passing between them. 

After that, no one questions his motives. 

***

Months pass, and a kind of normalcy settles upon Jean. 

He’s managed not to die thus far, and the deaths of comrades no longer disturb him. When he’s engaged in battle, a sense of calm comes over him, and he’s all about focus and precision. 

Jean knows it’s all because of Marco. 

He tries not to think too much about him. It’s hard, but it keeps him sane. He owes his strength to him. 

_Don’t worry, Marco, I’m doing just fine,_ he allows himself to think one day. It is a grave mistake. 

With Wall Sina in sight, a titan he failed to see swats at him. Luckily, it doesn’t make contact, but Jean loses his balance and smashes into a rooftop, skidding a couple meters and coming to a stop. 

He has enough strength to touch his head and discover blood before everything turns black. 

***

Jean awakes in a completely white space, devoid of boundaries. There is only endless white, stretching to infinity. 

_Is this…how it ends?_

Somehow he expected Marco to be there, after he died. It had seemed definite. And now, to find that it isn’t true, that he has to spend eternity alone, eats away at his heart.

However, immediately after he thinks that, a small house appears in the distance, smoke rising from the chimney. 

As he draws closer, tufts of grass appear around his feet, and colour seeps into the landscape, like an artwork slowly being painted. 

It could be any house in any district now, but Jean knows that it belongs to him. Him and Marco. 

As absurd as it sounds, it’s true, and he’s greeted by a vision when the door opens. 

Marco stands there, a look of amazement on his face. 

The sight of him makes Jean weak at the knees. It’s hard to admit, but Marco’s appearance had been slipping from his memories. Not very strongly, mind you, but he could no longer recall how many freckles dotted the right side of his face, or the shape of his mouth. 

Yet here he is, and it’s like a refresher to his mind. 

Marco throws his arms around Jean’s chest and hugs him close. The sensation is disturbingly real, and he finds himself returning the gesture, breathing in Marco’s unique scent and relishing in the pleasure. If this is heaven, he doesn’t mind staying here forever. Death seems to be such a small price for such bliss. 

The older man laughs gently, and his soft breath tickles at Jean’s ear. “Come,” he says gently, and Jean is powerless to resist. Really, what is there to stop him? 

Marco leads him through the house, to what is presumably the bedroom. 

Heat gathers in Jean’s cheeks as he realises what they’re supposedly going to do. Marco laughs again and studies Jean’s expression carefully. 

“It’s up to you,” he says cheekily, and sits down on the impossibly white bed, seeming more and more like an angel as the seconds pass. He’s as perfect as he ever was while he was alive, whole and glowing and just… Marco. 

Jean swallows thickly and makes a strained noise, indicating his willingness to continue. He steps towards the bed, into Marco’s outstretched arms, and they tumble down together, Marco pressing a kiss to Jean’s nose. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he says, almost accusingly. 

“It…wasn’t just you…” Jean admits. 

With a smile equivalent to a million suns, Marco clings to Jean possessively, their bodies flush against each other. 

A comfortable silence descends upon them. Jean feels content, more content than he’s ever been since Marco left his life. 

“Jean?” A small voice asks, muffled by the cloth of Jean’s shirt. 

“Hmm?” 

“W…What do you feel about me now?” 

Here’s his chance. A chance to erase his biggest regret. Though neither of them are alive any longer, they’re together now, and Jean owes the truth to his special person. 

“I love you, Marco.” 

A small sigh of relief and a snuggle soon follow, and Marco tilts his head up so Jean can see it. 

His eyes dance with mischief, and his hands cup Jean’s face tenderly as he eases one leg between Jean’s thighs. 

Alarmed, Jean shifts back a little, feeling sweat form on his brow as a dull throbbing begins below his waist. 

“It’s all right,” Marco soothes, brushing Jean’s hair to the side. 

A spurt of courage bubbles up inside of him, and he initiates the kiss with Marco, their tongues entwining and lips meeting in a sensual dance. 

Breaths coming in quick gasps, they finally break apart, but their faces remain close enough for their noses to touch. 

Marco slowly rolls onto his back, gesturing for Jean to climb on top. 

Once in position, Marco works eagerly to shed Jean of his clothing. Jean reciprocates, and before long, they’re bare. Yet there is no embarrassment. 

Jean automatically holds Marco’s arms down, but with tenderness. He bends down and nips at the skin just under Marco’s ear, colouring it pink. 

He steadily travels lower, trailing kisses over the length of Marco’s neck, then his collarbone. 

He releases Marco’s arms to touch his chest instead. Thumbs kneading at the nipples, Jean tugs at one lightly with his teeth. The action elicits a lovely moan from his freckled angel. 

One hand stealthily slides down Marco’s abdomen, fingers dragging lazily. It purposely bumps into the proud erection between Marco’s legs before closing around its base. 

“Wow, you’re rock solid already,” breathes Jean, and Marco covers his face as a blush springs to his cheeks. 

“Come on, I want to see your face,” Jean coaxes. 

Marco hesitantly peeks out from under the arm slung across his brow and sighs. “I can’t say no to you,” he says. 

Jean smiles and returns to his ministrations, beginning to pump Marco’s cock steadily. 

Whines of pleasure erupt out of Marco’s mouth, and he gasps, “No-stop, I can’t-”

Just before the other male goes over the edge, Jean abruptly takes his hand away, making Marco whimper. 

“You know, I didn’t exactly mean for you to-”

Jean cuts him off with a kiss, as he nudges a finger against Marco’s entrance. Shuddering, Marco relaxes, muttering, “Oh…” 

Gingerly pushing his finger inside, Jean probes around as Marco shivers.

A second finger soon makes its way in as well, swiftly followed by a third. 

“Lube!” Marco suddenly cries, startling Jean. “Erm, I don’t know if I have any…” 

“Hmm.” Jean replies. “S’all right.” 

And then he lowers his head to lap at the puckered area, slicking it with moisture. His tongue laves at the muscle and the tip slides in. 

“Oi, Jean!” A flustered Marco exclaims. “Y-you don’t have to do that, there’s lube in the drawer!” His hand scrabbles at the side drawer, trying to keep his composure even as Jean rims him. 

Amazingly, he manages to pull the lube out without dropping it, but nearly hits Jean’s head as he flails about. 

Jean gets up and smirks, licking his lips, and reaches for the bottle, flicking the cap open with a small click. 

He pours a generous amount of it onto his hand and rubs it in and around Marco’s waiting entrance. 

The rest goes onto his cock, which has thus far been unattended to. It’s of a good, average size, not to small, not too large, and it suits Jean to a t. For some odd, shameful reason, Marco can’t breathe when his eyes lock onto the patch of pubic hair. 

Swallowing and tearing his gaze away, he settles upon Jean’s face instead. 

It is then that Jean chooses to connect their bodies, easing in with a small grunt. 

It’s slow going, but Marco appreciates it, because it doesn’t hurt. It’s more of an odd sensation, rather than a painful one, but he’s not sure if he likes it. 

Belatedly he realises his virginity is being taken, and he laughs nervously to himself. _Better late than never,_ he thinks. 

Jean leans over him, arms to each side of Marco’s body. 

It feels safe, being trapped by Jean like this. If it were anyone else, no doubt he’d fight his way out, but this is fine. It’s right. 

Though his heart is thudding against his chest rapidly, all he feels is exhilaration. It’s finally happening. Marco would never tell him, but he often pictured Jean in his dreams and fantasies. Well, more like always. 

His thoughts are scattered when Jean picks up the pace, unable to continue at such a leisurely speed. As Jean thrusts, the awkward feeling Marco had before dissipates, giving way to a feeling so pleasurable that it almost seems unreal. 

“Aah!” he yelps, as he feels Jean hit a sensitive spot deep inside. 

Smirking, the sandy haired male aims for that area with each subsequent thrust, prompting never-ending moans from the man beneath him. 

“Mmm-Jean,” Marco gasps. 

Jean makes a strangled noise in response, wiping the sweat away from his brow. Marco tries to help, pushing the matted bangs away from his eyes. 

It is not much longer before they reach climax. Jean releases first, seed spilling while still inside. Marco’s spurts across their chests, as their heated breaths mingle together in the air. 

They pause for a moment, just letting themselves cool down and regaining their composure. 

A distinctly Marco-like grin on his face, the freckled angel sits up and slides out of bed, pulling at Jean’s hand. 

“Let’s get cleaned up,” he persuades, poking Jean lightly in the side. “We can relax afterwards.” 

Although he grumbles about it, Jean eventually gets up and follows Marco into the bathroom. “I can’t say no to you, either,” he sighs, and Marco laughs. 

***

One enjoyable wash later, the pair is refreshed, clean and semi-dressed. 

Marco wears a large hoodie and boxers, whereas Jean is clad in a pair of sweatpants. They settle back on the bed, Marco crossing his legs for Jean’s head to rest in his lap. 

A light-hearted mood surrounds them.

Maybe it’s the fact that they’ve just embraced, but Marco can’t help feeling giddy, thinking that this is absolute paradise. 

Jean feels the same, pressing a chaste kiss to the inside of Marco’s thigh. 

“I wonder if this is heaven,” he muses. 

Marco’s breath catches in his throat. 

He absentmindedly combs his fingers through Jean’s short, soft hair, and contemplates the best way to phrase what he’s going to say next. 

“Jean…” he murmurs. 

“Hmm?” 

“This _is_ heaven, but you aren’t dead yet,” Marco says softly. 

Jean’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “But…” 

“It’s true. You aren’t. See how you’re a bit more solid?” He asks, stroking Jean’s bare arm. “There’s more colour to you, too. Not as muted.” 

Jean splutters, at a loss for words. 

“How? How am I here then?” He mutters incredulously, still not quite believing it.

“Well… to be fair… this isn’t exactly heaven yet,” Marco adds, only increasing Jean’s bewilderment.

“We’re by the border between the living and the dead,” he continues. “Pretty much on it, actually. Your physical body’s in a coma.” 

Jean calmly accepts it, but he bites a little at his bottom lip, evidence that it’s bothering him. 

“So there’s a possibility I could go back?”

Marco nods. “Actually, it’s sort of like you have a choice. If you want to go back, you can go. If you don’t, then I’ll bring you across the border.” 

Jean mulls over what he’s just been told. Finally, he asks, “What do _you_ want me to do?” 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Marco says hoarsely, “It’s up to you, Jean. But if you really want my opinion, you should go.” 

Jean’s eyes narrow. “You _want_ me to leave you?” 

“No, that’s not it…” Marco immediately responds. “It’s more like…it’s not your time.” 

_”Not my time?”_ Jean repeats, a fragment of hurt registering on his voice. 

“Jean.” Marco says, sniffling, “You know I love you. But you have the rest of your life to live. There are so many things you can do for the world. Heck, maybe you’ll be the one to kill the last titan instead of Eren.” Moisture gathers in his eyes, and he blinks it away. 

“I can’t be selfish. I can’t take away who may be the best leader in existence.” Marco whispers. “As much as I want to, I can’t.” 

Jean, understanding Marco’s reasoning at last, reaches up and brushes his tears away. “Don’t cry. I get it. I’ll go back.” 

“I hope you’ll be happy, Jean. If you ever fall in love with someone else, just go along with it. Don’t mind me.” 

Sitting up abruptly, Jean crushes Marco in a hug. “Don’t. Even. Think. About. That. Do you know how much I regretted not telling you my feelings soon enough? I was torn apart by the thought that I would never have a chance to.” 

Marco, stunned by the initial action, gingerly wraps his arms around Jean’s back. “Thank you, Jean.” Is all he whispers, but it’s enough. 

“I love you.” The younger male says at last, and it’s like an enormous weight has been lifted off of him. “Forever.” 

“I’ll wait for you, Jean,” Marco promises. “No matter how long it takes, I’ll wait for you. In fact, I’d be happier if it was longer, because that just means you’re making the world better.” 

“I’ll be waiting, too.” Jean says, and kisses the crown of Marco’s head. 

They lazily make their way back to the entryway, wrapped in each other’s embrace. 

“Good bye for now,” Marco breathes. 

“Good bye for now.” Jean agrees. 

And he steps out the door. 

***

The gasps and sighs of dissolving tension reach his ears before he can see anything. 

Groggily, Jean opens his eyes to see Eren, Armin and Mikasa staring down at him in relief. Turning his head further, he sees that the room is filled with several other members of the scouting legion. They all seem happy to see him conscious. 

The doctor hurries to his side after checking his vitals, and smiles. “You’re going to be just fine,” she tells him. 

“That’s good,” he mutters, before asking, “How long have I been out?” 

“Around five or six hours,” Mikasa says quietly. 

Eren grudgingly says, “Good that you didn’t die. We can’t afford to lose anybody with skills to contribute.” 

Armin smiles. “Hope you’re back up and running soon.” 

After everyone else wishes him well, they exit the room, and before long it’s empty, save for him and the doctor. 

Jean eats a small meal, and the doctor says, “You’re welcome to get some rest. I assure you that you aren’t going to fall back into a coma.” 

Nodding, he shifts into a slightly more comfortable position and closes his eyes. He imagines Marco, his likeness sharper than ever in his mind. 

Jean knows it wasn’t a dream. He’s not sure why, but he knows. He can almost feel that soft touch, still lingering on his skin. 

The last thought he has before he drifts off to sleep is “Don’t worry, Marco. I’ll come back for you. I swear it.”


End file.
